The Miner's Wife

Chapter 9: Putting on a happy face

After the doctor's appointment, I still have a couple of hours to spare before it's time for my first client of the season. There's a message from Finnick for me in the reception. He's having dinner with Gloss and wants to know if I want to join them. I'm not hungry, all I've been able to think about all day is Katniss and how upset she sounded on the phone. I curse myself for being so far away. I decide to have dinner in my room, alone.

I try to call home again. The phone is still off the hook, so I call Haymitch instead. He answers after quite a few rings. He doesn't even say hi, he just starts off with a long string of profanities. It's a bit much, even coming from him.

"Did I wake you, Haymitch?" I say dryly when he finally shuts up.

"Fuck you, Peeta. I was finally getting some decent sleep, and then you decide to call me? What the fuck is the matter with you?"

I know he must've been sleeping in the kitchen or the living room if he was unable to block out the phone ringing. "Where were you sleeping?"

"On the kitchen floor. Why?"

"How can that possibly be 'decent' sleep?"

"Semantics. Whatever. Why did you call me? I'm guessing it wasn't just to hear my voice?"

There is no reason to beat around the bush. Haymitch knows I wouldn't call him at a time when I knew he'd most likely to be asleep for nothing.

"I talked to Katniss earlier today."

"Oh, did you?" He chuckles. "And you were away for exactly how long before you had to call her?"

I grit my teeth. "Three days. But that's beside the point. Have you talked to her lately?"

"No."

"Do you think you could... check on her?"

"Why?"

"She sounded... I don't know... I just got the feeling that something was wrong." I don't want to tell Haymitch that I think Katniss was crying. She's such a private person, I don't think she would want him to know.

The first client of the season is always the worst. I look at the name on the schedule I've finally read and grit my teeth. Sonoria Phyllips. I guess it could be worse. She's a woman, for starters, which helps. She's also not into urine or whips or anything overly kinky. What I hate the most is when a customer insists on handcuffing me. I like to be in control. I'm a victor, and my experience in the arena has taught me not to put myself in a vulnerable position. Mrs. Phyllips has never asked for that.

We have dinner first, as usual. Most of the clients want more than sexual gratification - that would be easy to get in much cheaper ways than buying a victor's services. They also want to be seen publicly with a victor. I notice the photographers, and I know that Sonoria Phyllips probably called them to let them know where I was going to be tonight. That is, if she didn't actually hire them herself, of course. There's nothing I can do about the photographers, so I try to pretend they aren't there. I hate knowing that people in 12 will see me on the front page of the gossip magazines a few days from now, people like my mother or Katniss. I wonder if Katniss notices the front pages of the magazines. I can't imagine that she would ever buy one, but she does go shopping in the town regularly.

It's probably best not to think about 12.

I've done this for so many years now that I can keep a conversation going with Capitol citizens without even really having to think about it. Mrs. Phyllips - I wonder how anyone can stand being married to her - laughs at my jokes, which is good, because it means she's in a good mood tonight. Hopefully this won't take too long. I have no idea how old she actually is - it's almost impossible to tell with people in the Capitol. Only when they reach their 60s does it become impossible for the surgeons and make-up artists to hide the signs of aging, and that's when you can tell that someone is, in fact, old. Mrs. Phyllips is in that Capitol gray zone between the 20s and 60s.